“There you are,” Aryal blurted out. She shot to her feet, a hectic flush staining her cheekbones.
Quentin rose almost as quickly. By the time he had straightened to his full height, she had already shapeshifted into the harpy. She held her wings closed and tight along her back, her feral face miserable and fists clenched.
“Good morning,” Pia said. She smiled at Aryal.
Quentin couldn’t stand it. Waiting the last two weeks had been such an agony for Aryal, and pleasantries were like rubbing salt into the wound. He nodded to Dragos and said to Aryal, “Let’s go. Do it.”
She jerked her head in a nod. They walked together to the edge of the building, and she hopped up on the ledge. Then she turned back to face him. The tension came off her in palpable waves, and she still had not unclenched her wings.
The harpy looked at Dragos, who walked over to stand by the ledge as well. He regarded her calmly. “If you need it, I will catch you,” Dragos said. His gold eyes were as steady as the earth.
Quentin might never like the dragon much, but in that moment, because of Dragos’s steady promise to his unnerved mate, Quentin loved him.
Aryal glanced at Quentin. She appeared to be frozen.
So she preferred the element of surprise, did she?
He shook his head as a fitful wind blasted his face, and he struck her in the middle of her breastbone with the flat of his hand. The blow was so strong it knocked her off the ledge.
As she went backward, he said, “Time to rip off the Band-Aid.”
Something about that wind must have irritated his recently healed eye, because his vision blurred with wetness as he watched her tumble in the air.
Then her wings snapped out.
She reached for the sky with both hands.
The harpy surged into the air with a joyous scream so primal it raised the hairs on the back of his neck and damn near pulled his heart out of his chest. She soared, wings hammering down, and he roared back at his mate as he soared with her in spirit.
Distantly, he heard shouts and cheers. Word must have gotten around, because a crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. A quick glance down revealed that all the other sentinels were present, their faces tilted up to watch the harpy’s flight.
Dragos’s expression was alight. Pia wiped her eyes with one sleeve.
Aryal rose, dove and looped up again. Eventually she drifted down to land on one knee in front of Pia, where she stayed, and Quentin realized she was offering full obeisance.
Pia’s face worked. She looked profoundly moved and immensely uncomfortable, and she started to shake her head.
“I finally figured you out,” said the harpy. She angled her head to look up at Pia with a sly sidelong smile. “You really do poop sparkly rainbows.”
Pia’s eyebrows shot up. She blinked.
Dragos folded his arms. He looked exasperated, as he did so often with Aryal. “What the hell does that mean?”
Aryal stretched out her wings that were all the more beautiful for the scars they bore. She met Quentin’s smiling gaze.
She asked him in an innocent tone, “Was it something I said?”
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Kinked: Number 6 in series (Elder Races) Page 31
